


After Hours

by track_04



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Kissing, M/M, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-14
Updated: 2018-02-14
Packaged: 2019-03-14 16:23:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13593888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/track_04/pseuds/track_04
Summary: Tim wondered how they'd gotten to this point, where he wished he could stay here forever, eating cheese sandwiches and listening to Martin tidy up.





	After Hours

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Flammenkobold](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flammenkobold/gifts).



"Hello?" Martin's voice sounded strange over a speaker, Tim thought. Smaller than normal. More distant. The perpetual worry was still easy to make out, though, even through all the static. "Hello? Is anyone there?"

Tim pressed the button for the intercom and leaned in closer, a bit proud of himself for managing to do both at once. "Sorry. Forgot I had to talk there." 

"Tim? You're back? When did--is everything alright? Are you okay?"

Tim rested his forehead against the rough stone of the building. "I'd be better if you'd let me in."

"Oh, right. Of course. Just let me--" There was a soft scuffling sound and then the speaker went silent. Tim closed his eyes and waited for the familiar click of a lock releasing. 

Instead, there was a longer than expected wait and a rush of air against his back as the door opened behind him. When he turned to look, he was greeted by the sight of Martin in an ugly green dressing gown, holding open the door for him. 

"Sorry," Martin said, sounding a bit breathless. "The button's broken. Had to come down and open it myself."

"Thanks." Tim pushed off the building and moved past Martin through the door. The wheels of his suitcase caught on the lip of the threshold and he stared down at it, feeling slightly betrayed.

"Um, just let me." Martin reached out and took the handle from him, pulling it free and letting the door swing shut behind them. He didn't make a move toward the stairs, so Tim didn't either. "So, you're back."

"Yeah."

"That's...good?"

"Yeah."

"Okay. We should probably…" Martin motioned towards the stairs, waiting for Tim's noncommittal shrug before he turned and started up them, Tim's suitcase in tow.

Tim gripped the handrail and followed behind him, eyes trained on the startling green of Martin's dressing gown as he went.

\--

Martin lived in a one-room flat that smelled of leftover curry and disinfectant. There was a bed in one corner and a small kitchen area in the other, with a window set between them that provided a view of the stained brick of the adjacent building. It was a tiny, dull place, and the pale grey of the walls gave an impression of emptiness that even the haphazardly arranged furniture and stack of boxes along one wall couldn't seem to fill. 

It was fairly depressing as far as living spaces went, and Tim was a bit surprised, standing just outside the door to the toilet with his still-damp hair dripping onto the collar of his borrowed t-shirt, to realize that he almost felt like he belonged here.

Martin was across the room, standing in front of his tiny counter and cutting the crusts off a plate of sandwiches. His ridiculous green dressing gown made him look out of place next to the dull grey walls and the stained white countertop, and something about the ridiculousness of the scene made Tim feel safe, too.

"They're a bit long, but they're a better fit than I thought they'd be." 

Martin turned, looking startled to see him, even though there was no way he could have forgotten about him in the time it took for Tim to shower and change. "Sorry. I can find you some shorts instead, if you want."

"No, these are fine." Tim hesitated a moment before he dropped his dirty clothes on top of his suitcase and took a seat at the battered kitchen table. The chair wobbled a little when he sat down, but he told himself that Martin probably wouldn't keep a piece of furniture around that was likely to injure one of his guests. "Thanks."

"It's no trouble. Nothing worse than sleeping in dirty clothes, is there?"

"I can think of a few things." Tim watched as Martin set a mug and a plate piled high with a truly alarming number of cheese sandwiches in front of him. "I did actually manage to eat while I was away, you know."

"Sorry, I may have gotten a bit carried away. I take after my mum, never know how much food to make. Anytime we had guests she'd make enough to feed three times as many people as were there and we'd be eating leftovers for ages afterwards." Martin turned away under the pretense of collecting a second mug of tea from the counter. The redness of the back of his neck was a stark contrast to the fuzzy green of his dressing gown. "Don't feel like you need to eat them all. I can take the leftovers for my lunches next week."

"I don't think I could eat them all even if I wanted to," Tim said, picking up one half of a sandwich and eyeing it uncertainly. He wasn't really even hungry, but Martin had taken a seat across from him and was giving him his I-want-to-make-things-better look, so he took a bite and chewed slowly.

For his part, Martin seemed slightly more relaxed now that Tim was eating. "So, when did you get back?"

"Six hours ago? Seven, maybe."

"And you...came here?"

"Not right way." Tim gave Martin a look that made it clear just how ridiculous he thought that idea sounded. "I tried going home first, but then I realized I left the keys to my flat in Malaysia. And I didn't feel up to trying to pick the lock or break in a window or phone my landlord, who's useless, really. So I decided to go to a pub. And then that got too depressing, and that's when I came here."

"Oh."

"Well, not here. I forgot you'd moved, so I went to your old building first. I don't think the person living in your old flat likes me very much."

Martin was doing that thing he did with his hands when he was worried, touching the table and the side of his cup and anything within his reach, like he had to keep his hands moving so he wouldn't wring them together. "Why didn't you call me?"

"Oh yes, that." Tim took another bite of his sandwich and chewed thoughtfully. "I couldn't. Dropped my phone in the river before I left."

"What? Why would you do that?"

Tim shrugged. "Thought it might make me harder to find. Stupid, right? Fat lot of good it did, too."

Martin picked up a spoon and started to stir his tea, the movement more vigorous than the task required. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"Not really."

"Okay. That's--" Martin stopped stirring and set the spoon aside. He didn't pick up his cup to take a drink. "Right, then."

Tim took another bite of his sandwich. "I didn't bring you anything back. In case you were hoping for a souvenir."

"Why would I expect you to bring me a souvenir? I didn't even know if you were ever coming back." 

"It was a joke, Martin. I used to actually be good at those." Tim rested his forehead against his free hand. He didn't want to talk about this. About any of it, really. But Martin always managed to make him feel like he _should_. "Used to be good at a lot of things."

Martin surprised him by staying silent. No trying to make awkward small talk or reassure him or change the subject to safer topics. He just sat there and let things be silent between them.

Tim closed his eyes and kept his face pressed against his hand. "I don't know if I can remember what it's like not to be tired."

Martin still didn't speak, but Tim heard his chair scrape against the floor as he stood. The sounds of Martin tidying up after them were oddly comforting--mugs in the sink, plate of sandwiches wrapped and put away for later, the remains of Tim's sandwich pried out of his hand and tossed in the bin. It was all so normal. Boring, really.

Tim missed things being boring.

He felt Martin touch his shoulder and he lifted his head to look at him, wondering how they'd gotten to this point, where he wished he could stay here forever, eating cheese sandwiches and listening to Martin tidy up. 

Martin looked worried again, but whatever he was thinking, he didn't say it. "Come on. You should get some sleep."

Martin helped him up from the chair and ushered him toward the bed with a hand on the small of his back, like he was afraid Tim would get lost somewhere in the three feet of space between it and the table. He left Tim standing while he turned down the covers, then urged him beneath them. Tim didn't bother protesting the treatment, just laid his head against Martin's pillow and let Martin fuss with the blankets until he seemed satisfied. 

"You look like you could use some sleep, too."

"Probably. Work's been a bit--well, you know how it is." Martin rubbed the back of his neck. "I'll just grab a blanket from the closet. The bed's a bit small, so I can sleep on the floor. Give you some space."

"You can't sleep on the floor, Martin. Don't be an idiot."

"It's fine, really! I don't mind. I'm a bit of a restless sleeper and I wouldn't want to keep you up."

"Martin." Tim sat up and looked at him, annoyed. "I'm too tired to argue with you. Get in the damn bed."

"I really don't think we'll fit--" Martin started, his protests trailing off under the weight of Tim's glare. "Okay, fine. Just let me switch off the lights first."

"And take off your dressing gown. I don't want to wake up to that thing."

"It's not _that_ bad," Martin said, sounding offended on the garment's behalf as he took it off and draped it over the back of the room's lone armchair. He switched off the lights and then climbed into bed next to Tim, neither of them saying anything as Martin shifted around awkwardly, trying to figure out a way to arrange himself so they weren't touching. He ended up so close to the edge of the bed that Tim was a bit afraid he'd fall off as soon as he fell asleep.

"Are you comfortable? I have extra blankets if you're cold. Extra pillows, too. I can get one for you--"

"I'm fine." Tim sighed and reached for Martin's waist to try and pull him closer. "Or I will be once you get over here. You look like you're about to fall off the bed."

"I was trying not to crowd you."

"It's a single bed. I think crowding each other is inevitable."

"You're sure you don't want me to sleep on the floor? It's no trouble, really."

"Martin. Shut up." Tim tugged at Martin's waist until he moved a bit closer and then he tugged again, stopping when he was confident he wouldn't wake up and find Martin had rolled over onto the floor sometime in the middle of the night. 

"This is, um…"

Tim pressed his face against Martin's shoulder and closed his eyes. "It's what?"

"...nice. It's nice, actually." There was an awkward silence and then Tim felt Martin's fingertips against his back, the touch light and uncertain. "Is this okay?"

Tim nodded against his shoulder and gripped the back of Martin's t-shirt. "Stay like this until I fall asleep, yeah?"

Martin pressed his hand between Tim's shoulder blades and pulled him a bit closer. "Okay."

\--

Martin was still there when he woke up in the morning, looking sheepish as Tim blinked awake beside him. Their legs had gotten tangled sometime in the night and Martin was very carefully not moving, his hand having drifted down to rest against the small of Tim's back. He flushed when Tim looked at him and mumbled an awkward, "Good morning."

"Morning." Tim worked a hand out from beneath the covers to rub the sleep out of his eyes. "Time is it?"

"Half seven, last I checked." 

Tim tilted his head back, squinting at Martin's face. "Shouldn't you be getting ready for work?"

"I thought I might call in." Martin squirmed a bit under Tim's scrutiny. "You'll need to get a new phone, so I thought I could give you a hand. Or just keep you company. If you want, that is."

Tim frowned, the now-familiar bitterness rising inside of him, wiping away any early morning relaxed warmth he'd been feeling. "You're sure they won't need you there? Reading statements and fetching Elias his tea?" 

"That's not--" Martin flinched and pulled away, giving Tim what probably qualified as one of the most hurt looks he'd ever received. "That's not the way things are. I don't--you know that's not how it is."

Tim felt the anger drain out of him as quickly as it had come and he looked away, staring at a small bleach spot on the shoulder of Martin's shirt. "Sorry. I shouldn't have said that." 

"It's fine," Martin said, but his voice sounded anything but. 

They fell into an awkward silence and Tim continued to not look at him, eyes still trained on the small spot of white marring Martin's shirt. Tim thought about apologizing, knew that the thought of work and knowing he'd have to go back to that place soon was making him act like even more of an ass than usual. He couldn't really think of anything to say aside from _I'm sorry_ , though, and that didn't feel like enough.

Martin spoke again before Tim could manage anything approaching an apology. "Why did you come here?"

Tim let out a breath and looked at him. He didn't really look angry or sad, just tired. More tired than he'd looked when he was living in the Archive. More tired than when they were trapped together in that endless corridor. More tired than he'd looked after all the police questioning. Even more tired than Tim felt. 

Tim decided that the truth made for a good enough apology. "Because coming here seemed to make sense. And nothing really makes sense anymore." 

"Oh." It was Martin's turn to look away this time, somehow managing to roll half onto his back to stare up at the ceiling. "Sometimes it seems like you don't like me very much is all. So I just wondered."

"I don't really like most people most of the time," Tim said, following the words with a tired laugh. "But I do like you. A lot of the time, anyway. More than I like most other people, at least. I thought you knew that."

"I didn't."

"Well, maybe you need to start paying more attention. I thought it was pretty obvious."

"It really wasn't." Martin sighed, looking slightly less tired than before. "And I hope you know you sound like Jon."

Tim scowled at him. "Now that's taking it too far."

"He's not that bad, you know."

"Yeah, I guess he's fine when he's not stalking his employees and murdering people."

"For the last time, there's no way he--"

Tim sighed and sat up, laying his hand over Martin's mouth and shifting until he was half looming over him. "Can we please not talk about this right now?"

Martin's eyebrows drew together in a less than happy look, but he nodded, waiting for Tim to remove his hand. "You could have just asked. I don't think the hand was necessary."

"It worked, didn't it?" Tim shrugged, his expression gone thoughtful as he watched Martin's face. It was always a bit of a shock to him, how different someone could look depending on the angle. He'd never seen this particular view of Martin before.

"Is something wrong?" The little lines that always showed up on either side of Martin's mouth when he was over thinking things made an appearance. 

Tim reached up to trace one with his thumb without thinking.

"...Tim?"

"Be quiet for a second," Tim said and, before he had a chance to think better of it, leaned down to kiss him. 

He'd meant for it to be brief, a quick, teasing touch of their lips, over and done with before either of them had time to process exactly what was happening. Just long enough to make Martin blush and sputter at him and to let them both forget, briefly, what an absolute mess their lives had become. 

He hadn't anticipated the sound that Martin would make--a soft, surprised exhalation that escaped in a warm puff of breath--or the way Martin's hand would grip the back of his shirt, the fabric wound tight through his fingers, like he was afraid what would happen if he let go. It made him linger, keeping his lips pressed against Martin's ten, twenty, thirty seconds longer than he'd originally intended.

He pushed his hand into Martin's hair and wondered why he'd never really thought about touching Martin's hair before this. He'd considered kissing him a few times, when he was at work, bored or tired or trying to focus on something that wasn't that uncomfortable prickling on the back of his neck that liked to remind him he was being watched. But he'd thought about kissing a lot of people at work, up to and including _Jon_. They were always just idle thoughts, attempts at distracting himself from horrible things going on around him, but it wasn't something he'd ever thought he really wanted. 

Now, with his fingers wound through Martin's hair and his mouth still pressed against Martin's, swallowing up the sounds he was making, he wondered how he'd ever let himself believe that was true.

Tim decided that it didn't really matter anyway. They were both here now, doing this, and that probably mattered more than all the what-ifs in the world.

He had no idea how long they stayed like that, with him lying half on top of Martin, who shifted restlessly against the mattress every time Tim found a new way to kiss him, but when he finally pulled away, his lips were tingling and there was a pleasant, lingering warmth along his skin on all the places Martin had touched him.

He gave them both a moment to catch their breath and tried to look thoughtful. It was much harder to manage than usual. "Does that answer your question?"

"Maybe? I don't know if I remember asking a question," Martin said, looking a bit dazed. "So, is this--I mean. Did you just do that because you...what was that?"

"Pretty sure it was me kissing you."

"Yes, but why?"

"Because I wanted to."

"Oh. Do you think you'll want to do it again?"

"Yes, actually," Tim said. He couldn't tell which of them was more surprised. "I wouldn't mind something in my life that's not complete shit right now. If you want to, that is."

"I--yes. I think I do? I mean, I do. Want to."

"Well, it's settled then." Tim smiled a real smile, his first in weeks. "You probably need someone around to help you eat that enormous plate of cheese sandwiches you've got sitting in your fridge, anyway."

"Oh god, I'd forgotten about the sandwiches." Martin flushed, his voice dropping to an embarrassed almost-whisper. "I don't even really like cheese sandwiches that much. They're just one of the only things I know how to make that doesn't come from a tin."

Tim laughed. "Maybe next time, we can just order take away."

Martin nodded and smiled a real smile of his own. "Yes, let's do that. Next time."


End file.
